


A Cast or a Kettle

by daroos



Series: Pants Off [4]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Found Family, Gen, runaways - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-08
Updated: 2014-02-17
Packaged: 2018-01-07 23:14:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1125524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daroos/pseuds/daroos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint is new at being the responsible adult in any relationship, but with each kid he invites in off the street, it's another chance to get things right.</p><p>A series of Vignettes about how Clint Barton fumbled his way through the Untouchables, doing what he could to make lives better for kids with great power, but lacking in the great responsibility area.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Peter Parker

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place after History is Underrated, also known as the Porny Winter Soldier Saga.
> 
> Thanks to Twiller for the timely beta. Chapters will be updated as they get finished and beta'ed.
> 
> The title refers to the fact that groupings of hawks are sometimes known as either a cast or a kettle.

“Barton -- what’s your plan?’

Clint shuffled the briefing packets together and pushed away from the table to look Coulson up and down. He appeared much better than the last time they had seen one another. “I’m gonna go talk to them.”

“And then?”

“We’ll move forward from there.” He shrugged on his quiver, the Untouchables dossier for one Spiderman, AKA Peter Parker in hand. If he was going to bill himself up as babysitter and guidance counselor to the superset, he was going to do it his own way.  
\--  
Clint set up on a rooftop in Spiderman’s normal transit route, a few arrows tipped and ready to go. He only had to wait two hours or so before he spotted the penduluming red and blue figure’s approach down the canyon formed by tall buildings. Clint lined up his shot and took it as Peter reached the height of a swing, the mesh net arrow hitting the kid in his center of mass and throwing him against a building. Clint followed it up with a putty arrow, adhering both person and net to the building before he began to fall. Two claw arrows pinned each of the flailing arms.

Tony had redesigned those to withstand the super set, so he was confident they would hold for a few minutes at least. Clint lined up his final shot almost lazily, an arc of monofilament spooling out behind his arrow. Clint secured his end of the monofilament, clipped in his carabiner, and swung the distance between their respective buildings. He hit the wall boots-first.

Peter’s head, which had been swiveling around looking for his assailant, turned towards Clint. The large eyes painted on the full face mask somehow managed to communicate apprehension.  
“I would have tried calling, but my SHIELD contacts said they’d already tried that,” Clint told the captive Spiderman calmly.

Peter began struggling again. The putty had hardened and didn’t allow much range of motion. “You can relax. I’m just here to talk.”

“Heck of a way to talk,” Peter grumbled.

“Yeah, well.” Clint shifted in his harness so it settled a little more comfortably.

“You’re one of the Avengers.”

“You’re my Friendly Neighborhood Spiderman,” Clint replied. “I heard you did good work in downtown during the Battle of New York.”

Peter’s head dropped. “A lot of people did good work that day.”

“You got a lot of flack for debris trapped in your webs from the cleanup crews.”

“Some of the Police took a few pot shots at me too,” Peter replied quietly.

Clint was momentarily struck dumb. “I’m Clint,” he offered finally.

“Spiderman,” Peter replied mulishly.

“I know you’re Peter Parker,” Clint told him.

“Oh.”

“Could we maybe do this in the diner down there?” Clint pointed to the welcoming light of a well worn window. “You got civvies under there?”

“Yeah. If you let me out of this goop.” Clint nodded and sprayed the enzyme mixture Bruce had given him all over Peter. His putty gradually brittled and sheared off in dusty shards. Clint helped untangle the metal net strands from Peter’s limbs. In a display of flexibility that Natasha would have envied, Peter braced his wrists still stuck in the claw arrows and bent his spine into a ‘c’. He braced the soles of his feet above his head and strained taut like a bowstring. The claws popped out of the mortar. Clint caught one and Peter shot out a tiny jet of web to catch the other. Clint tucked both in his quiver once more.

“Do you think you could give me a lift to street level?”

Peter brushed the remaining putty dust off his arms and torso and held out a hand. “Sure.”

They grasped forearms. Peter displayed that surprising metahuman super strength. Clint tested their grips were secure and hit the release on his carabiner.

The swinging feel of the descent was pleasant and thrilling. Clint was grinning when his feet hit the ground. “That was fun.” Peter dropped next to him. Though he couldn’t see his face due to the full mask, Clint got the idea Peter was smiling at him. Clint nodded towards the dumpster. “Civvies.” Clint zipped his gear into a low profile case. The kid that popped around the dumpster matched the photos Clint had seen. He was a little shorter than Clint and lanky to the point of being underfed. Chaotic hair topped a mobile face and shoulders which were alternately cocky and self-effacing. His shoes had holes in them as did his jeans. His buttondown was too big and his jacket was too small. He was mismatched in the way only the habitually poor were. Clint remembered being that sort of mismatched.

Clint shrugged on a windbreaker and gestured with his head towards the diner.

“So you’re Hawkeye,” Peter said.

“Clint,” Clint corrected.

“The Avenger.”

“Or Barton,” he corrected once more. Peter trotted half a step behind his right shoulder, apprehension and excitement warring on his face.

Clint held the door for Peter and ushered them into a far corner booth. Peter tried to take the seat facing the door. Clint cleared his throat meaningfully, which stopped Peter with his butt hovering over the booth cushion. Peter relocated to the other side while Clint settled into his seat, bow case resting comfortingly against his leg.

“Why did you duck SHIELD? The report said Sitwell attempted contact three times before writing you off.”

“Was that his name?”

“Little guy, cueball with glasses?” Peter nodded. “Yeah - Sitwell. You couldn’t have been _afraid_ of him.” Clint neglected to mention that Sitwell really was someone he should have been afraid of.

Peter displayed more sense than Clint expected. “Are you kidding? He’s classic Man In Black. I love science but I don’t want to end up in any experiments but my own.”

“That’s not what SHIELD does.”

Peter shrugged, playing with a creamer cup.

“Hey there. You fellas know what you want?”

Clint ordered a huge, greasy meal.

“Just a coke,” Peter said.

Clint gave him an incredulous look. “He’ll have the same,” he told the waitress. To Peter, “It’s on me. You make me hungry just looking at you.”

Peter blushed and ducked his head.

Awkward silence passed between them.

“So tell me about the thing between you and the Police.”

Peter stacked creamer cups into a leaning tower of creamer. “They just got the wrong idea about me.” Clint let the tower collapse. “I didn’t know the guy was an undercover cop.”

 _Oh_ Clint thought. That would explain some things.

Peter saw his look. “Yeah, it was stupid of me to get in the middle of it. I thought someone was going to get killed, though.”

“That should be even more reason for you to not get involved,” Clint told him.

Peter’s gaze turned hard and distant. “Have you ever stood by when you should have jumped in and done something?”

Clint replied reluctantly, “Yeah.”

“Well, that plus the thing with Doc Ock and the Lizard and I’m on their shit list.”

Clint frowned. There was being on a shit list and then there was having police officers shoot at you. He’d been in both situations and understood how they could sometimes intersect. “Still, it doesn’t seem very professional for them to be taking pot shots at you in the middle of a world-ending battle.”

Peter shrugged. “I got put on the wanted criminal list. And the Daily Bugle has it out for me. I guess they thought I was part of it.” Very carefully he stacked the creamer cups just as they had been when they sat down.

Milk shakes arrived at that moment, distracting them both.

As Clint suspected, Peter downed his milkshake like a starving man. Clint made a bet with himself that Peter would have a food baby by the time they left the diner.

“That’s.... awful,” Clint said. “Being on wanted lists always sucks.”

“Oh, yeah, Mr. Avenger has been on the run from the law a lot,” Peter sassed.

“Hey, you’re talking to a former juvenile delinquent with outstanding arrest warrants in six states.”

“Wait, really?” The waitress appeared again with their meals, so Peter dropped his voice. “For what?”

Which was how Clint ended up detailing his criminal exploits over burgers and fries, thus, somehow, earning the trust and adoration of Peter Parker, AKA Spiderman.  
\--  
“Am I gonna have to take the mask away from you?” Clint asked in a serious tone.

“I have a _secret identity_ ,” Peter hissed.

“Which I know about, and our handler knows about, and pretty much everyone on the executive levels has clearance to know about if they gave two sh—” Clint cut himself off, feeling oddly guilty for cursing. “You may be a secret to everyone out there, but in the Tower, everyone knows.”

The elevator doors opened. Clint could see Peter clutch his mask just a little tighter, as though willing his fingers not to put it on, automatically. Bruce and Kate were in the common area in front of the massive projector screen, leaned over a text book. Kate was studying for college entrance exams, or something brainy that Clint felt in no way qualified to know about. In spite of that he was proud of her; Coulson had instilled enough ‘knowledge is power’ speeches into him that even as an ex-carney dropout he was happy Nu-Hawkeye was bettering herself.

Peter stayed by the walls, still skittish but also curious. Articles written by or about Tony were framed in garish displays on the walls. They were slowly being joined by articles written by Bruce Banner, Jane Foster, and surprisingly, Steve, in more understated framing choices. Peter squinted at an article profiling Bruce as a pioneering gamma radiation scientist and sometimes Hulk. It had a picture of him underlit with green to give an eerie Hulk/not-Hulk effect. Peter scrutinized the magazine cover and leaned very far back so he could see Bruce in profile. He looked back at the article. Peter glanced back to be met with curious stares from both Bruce and Kate.

“Uh...” Bruce said, eyes flicking between the rather weedy, mismatched youth and Clint.

“Who is this?” Kate asked in a tone of voice that suggested she was ready to hustle Peter out of the place if he wasn’t an invited guest.

“This is—” Clint began.

“Peter. Peter Parker. You’re Bruce Banner. I’m such a huge fan of your research. I’ve just— the field of gamma radiation effects was so under—”

Clint tuned out. Peter shook Bruce’s hand enthusiastically, managed to completely ignore Kate, and walked off with the scientist without seeming to realize he was leaving Clint.

“So,” Clint said, rocking back on his heels.

“So,” Kate agreed, flipping through the book Bruce had been helping her with.

“That was Spiderman,” Clint added, pointing to where Peter had wandered off towards.

“Spiderman stole my chemistry tutor.”


	2. Jubilation Lee

“Hey,” Clint said, sure to be well out of range of the teen.

“Hey yourself, tall, dark, and creepy,” she replied. She kept walking but angled her body so he wasn’t behind her, steps fast and staccato in the frigid afternoon.

“My name is Clint.”

“Yeah, I know you. Avenger, right?” She said it like the job title was beneath her regard.

“Sometimes. Sometimes I work for a shadowy military organization.”

“Hey, I got kidnapped by one of those once,” the girl replied, a feral grin making clear that she wasn’t planning on making that mistake again. The hint of firework sparks jumped from her fingertips. “Lucky for them I didn’t agree with them and they spit me back out.” She flipped the collar of her highlighter-yellow coat up around her ears in an attempt to keep rain off her neck.

“Look, before all this, I was a street kid,” Clint tried.

“And let me guess,” she interrupted him, “you gave up your wayward ways and found security and purpose in the loving arms of our dear government. Well kudos to you, buster, but mutants don’t go down so well in the rank and file of whatever little soldier factory you got stamped out of. We gum up the gears.” She popped her gum with an obnoxious sucking sound.

“Look, my people know you’re here, and they were perfectly happy to let you keep living under a bridge and behind the shopping centers or wherever you end up tonight, but I thought, ‘hey, maybe that woman would like a real shower where she doesn’t have to worry about getting groped by some homeless guy, and maybe some real food and a bed’. No strings, just a place to land for the night.”

It was a similar offer to the one that Coulson had given him when he’d brought in Barton as a young delinquent, with the added ‘some place where you won’t get shot or stabbed’ given his special circumstances. She glared at him. “You’re not the first old guy to try to get me to come home with him.”

“Am I the cleanest-looking at least?” Clint asked.

That earned him a wry, somewhat dubious smirk, and a visual once-over. “Professor X was a class act compared to your hobo ass.”  
\--  
Jubilation Lee had a smart, foul mouth, a biting wit, and an utter disregard for personal boundaries. In a way, she reminded Clint of himself, twenty years prior, pushing everyone around him to arms length so he could claim indifference during their eventual departure from his life. She ate a teenager-appropriate quantity of food, drank an entirely inappropriate quantity of coffee, and passed out in one of the guest rooms still wearing her coat and boots.

A little after two in the morning the intruder alarm woke Clint, silent but with a blinking light in the pitch darkness. The light but no sound meant JARVIS suspected the intruder had enhanced senses; super-something as opposed to a run-of-the-mill military intrusion, then. He rose and grabbed his bow, slinging a quiver over his bare chest.

“Babe?” Darcy asked, woken by the movement and light.

Clint raised an eyebrow and she startled, realizing what the alarm meant. She began dressing hastily in preparation for evacuation. He kissed her on the temple before slipping out. Natasha was just preparing to ghost out of their apartment to track down whatever had set off the alarm when Clint joined her. Steve was at the end of the hall in combat boots and sweats, shield in hand. They stalked through the tower, silent as shadows.

In retrospect, Clint should have seen it. He really should have seen it. He didn’t know how he hadn’t seen it. Before he knew what was happening, a thick, hairy forearm was wrapped across his windpipe, and a sharp, curved blade was centimeters from his eye, angled in a way such that it would blind him if he struggled against the choke hold.

“Where is she? You got her smell all over her,” a rough, angry voice growled from behind Clint. Natasha turned and froze; Steve did likewise.

“I’m not sure who you’re talking about,” Clint replied steadily, calculating trajectories for his boomerang arrow given that he’d probably have to throw it and would be one eye down.

“Sir, why don’t you just calm down,” Steve said, hands out in a placating gesture.

Clint felt the body holding him tense at Steve’s voice. “Jubilee. Where is she?” he demanded.

Steve squinted, going from professionally calm to confused. “Logan?” he asked.  
\--  
Clint’s heart hadn’t settled down in the least. It had been a half hour. They were drinking tea. He’d put on a shirt. Still, his heart went _thumpita thumpita thump_ with a faster-than-necessary rhythm.

Logan actually seemed like a decent man-mutant beast-deathmachine when he wasn’t threatening Clint’s vision. Apparently he was like, a bajillion years old, and had fought in ‘the war’, and had met Steve at some point and ruined some Hydra afternoons together. They were old buddies. Apparently Logan thought that Clint had kidnapped his neon-colored runaway for nefarious purposes, and had taken exception to that. Clint was very, deeply glad that that was not the case, and that Logan had calmed down enough to learn that.

The runaway in question was still asleep in guest quarter.

“So what happened?” Steve asked. “She seems like a nice girl; why did she run off?”

Logan rolled his eyes. “Oh, you know. One too many deathsquad hits and it spooks the kids. They do rash things sometimes, and then they get confused and forget where home is. Gotta go round them up.”

“Deathsquad?” Natasha asked flatly at the same time as Clint asked, “Too many?”

Logan waved his hand as though batting their objections aside. “It’s fine now. I got a safe place to stash the squirt.” He glanced at the video feed from her room. Jubilee had rolled to her side, curling around her pillow and drawing her knees towards her chest. “Just, ya know, when she wakes up.” Clint exchanged a look with Natasha that made it clear he wasn’t the only one to see the ooey gooey center of the hairy murder machine.


	3. Kate Bishop

Tony eyed the teen warily. She wore a purple headband that made her look her age, and a heavy pair of Doc Martens which made her seem small. Kate eyed him in turn.

“I wanted to say thank you,” she said quietly; not demure but with the self-contained dignity of deposed royalty.

Tony studied her suspiciously. People rarely thanked him outside of combat for any reason. She stuck out her hand, and she wasn’t trying to give him anything but a shake. He took it and was surprised that it was calloused and strong. “Yes, well, it’s not like I—”

“You could have had me thrown to the curb easier than I could order takeout so don’t even pretend you’re a dick like that.”

Tony met Kate’s eyes and was faced with the full intensity of her gaze. She was pretty in the fresh way all teenage girls seemed to him since Tony hit twenty - fresh like garden flowers, but not interesting for anything more than passive observation. There was a painful crimping around her eyes that spoke of betrayal and a hard turn to her mouth that spoke of having been her own defender from too early an age.

“Hawkeye said I could get a bow from you to practice with.”

“You know nobody calls him Hawkeye outside of combat, right?”

Kate shrugged, nonplussed. “Okay... lets’ get some measurements and I’ll get JARVIS on fabrication.”  
-  
Natasha showed up at her door just as she was leaving for her gym. Kate had been going back and forth as to whether she would go, sacrificing the safety of the Tower for some feeling of normalcy. It seemed the Avengers had a different idea.

“I guess you’re here to keep an eye on me?” Kate asked warily.

Natasha didn’t blink. “Yes,” she replied simply.

“Well I’m going to go to the gym now,” Kate said defiantly.

“I know,” Natasha responded like she was an idiot.

“I’m not a prisoner here,” Kate said.

“I’m not stopping you, I’m just accompanying you.”

“Oh.”

“I haven’t had a good workout in a while and those MMA guys are always fun to put on the mat.”

“Oh.”

Natasha seemed to think it was cute how Kate gave her a speculative look like she doubted Natasha’s ass-kicking abilities.  
\--  
“Hey Hawkeye,” Clint greeted, sticking his head in the medical bay. Kate was sitting at the side of Betty Ross’ desk, hand splayed on its surface.

“‘Sup Hawkeye,” she returned.

“Whatcha doin’ in here?” Clint asked. Betty Ross had become the de facto primary care doctor to the Avengers as well as the strays Clint was picking up at a surprising rate. A thought occurred to him. “Is it... lady stuff?”

Kate threw him an unimpressed look. “My wrist has been sore.”

“You didn’t say anything,” he said with a frown. Her care and training was his responsibility; if she wasn’t going to tell him when something hurt it was a serious breach of trust.

“Yeah, well, it’s just been sore, but then this happened.” She pointed to a raised bump on the outside of her wrist. “Doctor Ross is getting the imaging back now.”

“Oh, you got a bible bump.”

“A what now?”

“I get them sometimes here.” Clint pointed to the inside of his left wrist. He glanced around the office, looking through the medical texts arrayed above the desk. He chose a thick, heavy one at random and began thumbing through it.

“What makes it a bible bump?” Kate asked, curious now.

Clint heard Betty coming back down the hallway. In a swift movement he closed the medical tome and slammed it down on top of the swollen protrusion on Kate’s wrist. She yawlped in pain and surprise and whacked Clint hard in the side of the head with her free hand, missing his ear by an inch.

“What are you—” Betty began, outraged and horrified.

Clint put the book back. Kate pulled her hand to her chest in a guarding movement, rubbing her sore joint ruefully. “‘Cause you hit it with a bible and it goes away.” Clint answered Kate’s earlier question.

“Did you just rupture her cyst with Harrison’s ‘Principles of Internal Medicine?”

Clint glanced up at the book he had just replaced. “A-yup.”

He replied at the same time as Kate asked, “Cyst? I have a _cyst_?” She looked at her wrist as though she was concerned it might begin oozing pus.

Betty took it from her, probing gently at the back of her hand and moving the joint. “Had. That _is_ one way to fix them; not highly recommended in the medical community, though.”

“See, Hawkeye? This is why I didn’t tell you!” Kate told him with a censorious expression. “Hitting people with books is not medicine.”

Clint shrugged, and rotated his own wrist at her. “Give it a whirl; tell me it isn’t better.”

Kate glared mulishly at her mentor but flexed her wrist, frowned, and did a full rotation. “It’s... it’s warm, but better.”

Clint spread his hands in a ‘ta-da’ gesture.

“Do you really do that to yourself?” Betty asked.

“Well, the Swordsman used to do that but on the edge of a bar-top when I got ‘em.”


	4. Jessica Drew (Part 1)

“This one. You should follow up on this one.” Natasha put a dossier in front of Clint. He flipped it open. **_Arachne_ \- Drew, Jessica** was at the top. The picture was that of a girl with long dark hair wearing a half mask. Clint only identified her as a girl, and not a woman, because her age was listed as seventeen. If it hadn’t been a file put together by Coulson himself, he was unsure he would have believed it.

Clint frowned at the blank expression beneath the half mask. A man was at her feet, looking up at her with adoration and avarice.

Natasha gave him a look that clearly said she saw his doubt and was unimpressed. “She’s been in New York the last few months,” Natasha added.

“I dunno, Nat. She’s been in assassination and espionage for at least the last two years. Seems more likely we should be taking her out then asking her back for hot cocoa and a little better-late-than-never parenting.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “Read the whole thing. I have a last known address to start on when you’re done.”

Clint sighed, knowing a task he wasn’t going to get out of when it was put before him, and sat with the file. He read. As he read, he realized why he had to go after Drew; Nat’s haunted eyes peered out from behind every euphemism and tidbit of operational lingo, sterilizing this child’s reprehensible deeds.

He could no more leave this girl to her fate then he had been able to execute Natasha. She had been brainwashed, raised to a life of death, and cut loose when she had become worthless. She had made her way in the only ways she knew; as an agent of death and secrets. This sexualized child had been made into what she was, and as terrifying as that metamorphosis was, it was not her fault. Perhaps Natasha saw something in the string of felonies like he had seen in hers. Perhaps Nat saw a cry for redemption, or the questing search for a way out.

He tried to see into the dark eyes, shadowed by a swoop of dark bangs, but he only saw shadow and conflict.

“You’re right, Nat. What’s the play?” Natasha smirked at him; a tiny ‘I told you so’. She gestured with her head for him to follow her.

They got suited up. Natasha handed him an air filter that fitted over his nose and mouth. “She has pheromones that make it especially easy for her to manipulate men.”

“Do they do anything to women?” Clint asked. The little air filter fit over his nose and mouth and made talking difficult. 

“Officially? Nothing. Unofficially, it pisses us the hell off.” Clint raised his eyebrows. “Every male they sent after her she put the whammy on and escaped. Every woman she managed to goad into a rage and evade.”

“So why don’t you have an air filter?”

“I’m always angry,” Natasha replied with a smirk.

“No fair quoting Bruce to get out of wearing one of these dorkbreathers.”

“Fine, I just don’t feel like putting it on until we’re actually within a mile of her.”  
\--  
“Hello there, little spider,” Natasha said.

“Hello, Widow.” Drew spoke Natasha’s codename like it was a plump ripe fruit she was savoring on her tongue. “A little young to be on oxygen, aren’t you?” she asked with a smirk. Drew reclined in a booth at the back of a dark club. It was certified neutral ground for several of the local mafia rings, and a known spot for negotiating seedy dealings.

“Older than you, certainly. Probably older than you would believe. Youth and enthusiasm can only take you so far; eventually age and experience will win out, I assure you паучок.” Natasha glared at the two men opposite Drew. They displayed a surprising instinct for self preservation by making themselves scarce. “My associate wants to talk with you.”

“Associate,” Drew repeated with sarcasm.

“You’ll listen to him, you will consider what he has to say, we will part ways. Understood?”  
Drew settled back in her booth with a carefree air. “I’m always up for... business.”

She was dressed in a dress with a neckline that went to her navel and a slit that went up to her hip. She tossed her dark hair to the side and looked up at Clint, her body language saying coy, and vulnerable. “Not business,” he said, and sat.

Her lips parted and her smile was wide and red. “Pleasure then?” she asked.

All Clint had to think was _seventeen_ and any desire wilted on the vine. “Not quite.” The air filter distorted his voice and made it feel as though he was stuck in Honduras during the rainy season. “Look, if I take this off you promise not to use your whammy brain drugs on me?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Whatever you want, Mr. Associate.”

Clint looked her in the eyes. They were dark and huge and hard as glass. He saw into her, and saw himself -- his own brittle bravado from his childhood such as it had been, held together with little more than his arrogance and ignorance. There would be nobody to come to her aid if she was in danger. There would be nobody to claim her body for burial were she to be killed, except the scientific macabre interested in what her flesh might tell them. She relied on her own strength which she imagined to be infinite; she imagined herself immortal, and she imagined herself already dead. To break glass all that is required is a single flaw and pressure. Clint saw she was riddled with a spiderweb of flaws, and Clint knew he had the pressure to shatter her if he so chose.

Some of his thoughts must have shown through to his face, because her smile retreated to a cocksure sneer. “SHIELD has been aware of your movements through New York for the last hundred and ten days. Before that they kept tabs on you in Borneo, Monywa, Phuket, Madripoor, and Da Nang.”

Her other eyebrow rose to join the first as his list of cities continued. “A squeaky clean government agency keeping offices in Madripoor? For shame,” she said with a tut.

“You don’t keep up very well with the gossip if you think SHIELD is squeaky clean.” She shrugged as though to say, _whatever_. “My point is, SHIELD has been aware of your movements for a good long while and has been content to let you swim the rough seas in the hope a shark will snap you up and end the little problem that you pose.”

“And what problem is that?” she asked in faux innocence, almost preening under the compliment that she caused SHIELD trouble.

“Arson, larceny, assassinations, theft of state secrets, kidnapping, aggravated assault, burglary... That’s just the start, and that’s just in the US. You’ve been busy.”

“I have hobbies,” she admitted with a shrug.

“Most people’s hobbies won’t land them in prison or worse.”

“Most people are _boring_.” She rolled her eyes at him. “Is that all? Because if so, I was in the middle of something—”

“You’re turning eighteen in three months,” Clint interrupted.

Her mouth closed with a little click, her lips turned down in displeasure.

“After that I can’t do anything for you. SHIELD will have no choice but to bring its full weight down on you, and I will be unable to stop them.”

“Yeah. Mr. Avenger stopping SHIELD from do-gooding.” She snorted. “I believe that. You know, at least come up with—”

He slapped his hand down on the table, hard. The glasses wobbled but didn’t fall, and he startled Drew enough to bring her up silent. “I got mixed up in shit when I was a kid and by the time I wanted out, I knew the only way it was happening for me was in a body bag. SHIELD gave me another option, and I took it, and there are some days I hate all of this, but I never, _never_ regret signing up.”

She tucked her chin haughtily, head tilted to the side as though she thought he was particularly adorably stupid. “I’m not some two-bit country roustabout.”

“You’re right. You’re teetering on the brink of becoming a truly soulless—” Clint cut himself off before he said ‘bitch’. “You have what it takes to be in the big leagues, and you were raised on the wrong side of things. We could change that.”

“My _point_ is, boyscout, we’ve already gone past there. I’ve gone past there, and I don’t plan on coming back. You probably thought what you got into was serious business, but I’m telling you now—”

“I hurt people.” Clint stared into her big, dark eyes, and let a little of the bad person he knew he was out to play behind his own gaze. “I hurt people and I did more, later. And I would have kept going ‘till it killed me, one way or the other. You’re not too far gone until you decide you are.”

She looked at him with anger and derision that he knew was mostly for herself. Her focus split from him, just for a second, and he knew his offer had a hook in her. In spite of that she remained silent.

“Take some time to think on it. Wrap up whatever business you don’t want to leave hanging. Come in before you turn eighteen and I can offer protection, lodging, whatever you need to get you a leg up on the straight and narrow.”

“And what? Become one of the military industrial complex’s little automaton deathbots? Do bad for the goodies?”

“We’ll burn that bridge when we come to it.” Clint shrugged. “This isn’t a recruitment drive, this is an offer to come in. But like I said, you have what it takes to be in the big leagues, whichever side you end up on. I sleep a lot better at night now that I do bad with SHIELD, is all I’m saying.”


	5. Jessica Drew (Part 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Twiller for doing the beta dance with me.

Clint found himself in the same bar, exactly a month later, with Kate. “You shouldn’t be here,” he reminded her again. He was surprised the bouncer had let him, let alone his obviously underage mentee through the front door. She rolled her eyes at him and sucked conspicuously on her expensive virgin beverage.

Clint had said he would be at the same bar a month from their first meeting if Drew wanted to come in or work out an alternate timeline. He was not at all sure that she _would_ show up, and the thought that she might devote herself to a life of crime and have to be taken out -- probably by him with his luck -- made him squirm. Kate seemed to think this was all some sort of really great field trip. Well, it had started as a really great field trip. Now in hour two it was a field trip where she needed to pee but didn’t want to risk missing something important.

Her foot tapped distractingly. “Katie-kate -- go empty the tank.” Her leg stopped and she glanced suspiciously at him. He flicked his eyes to the ladies bathroom and back meaningfully.

“Don’t bring in any super spysassians while I’m gone.”

“I will if you spend less time with Stark; that man abuses the English language in ways that are frankly offensive.” She sucked the rest of her drink down, waving the empty glass towards the bar for a refill. “You’re just gonna have to go again,” he warned her.

“At what point did you start thinking I was five?”

“At the point that you were gonna piss yourself because you didn’t want to miss anything. Besides, those aren’t cheap.”

Kate rolled her eyes. “I saw the Suit give you the SHIELD card.” She sashayed towards the bathroom.

“That doesn’t mean the american taxpayer wants to pay for your fancy girly drinks!” he shouted after her. Some of the other more discrete patrons gave Clint a dirty look, which he returned.

While he was busy eyeballing the enforcer for what was probably a shady cartel leader, Drew slipped into his booth. The bartender dropped Kate’s drink in front of her, which she accepted. In spite of himself, Clint admired her timing. Drew was dressed less conspicuously in business attire that somehow made her look older. What Clint was relatively certain was a real gold necklace fell like liquid wealth down her chest.

“Pretty bold, coming here like this. Not even mamma Widow to back you up.”

Clint shrugged and jabbed his thumb towards the ladies’ room. “I got Hawkeye. I mean, the Avengers know where I am, so if you kidnap me or something... well, lets just say SHIELD probably won’t let the Avengers get to you first, but I’m not sure which would be worse for you.”

She gave him a scornful look. “As though I would get my fingerprints on _you_.” She took a long sip of Kate’s drink and rolled it around on her tongue.

Clint waited. His tongue could run away with him sometimes, but when it came to work -- and Drew was part of his self-assigned work -- he had the patience of mountains. She studied him like he imagined people studied art; looking for hidden meaning, or perhaps an emotional connection. Her hair looked soft and glossy, falling in a single gentle wave almost to her waist.

“Stop that!” Kate’s admonishment was accompanied by a slap to the heads of both Clint and Drew. Clint jerked. Drew glowered at Kate and tousled her hair back into place.

Clint shook his head again. “You let her drink my drink.”

“Well after she sat down in front of it I wasn’t exactly gonna let you drink it anyways,” Clint reasoned. He lifted his hands and wiggled his fingers at Drew. “Assassin.”

“Point.” Kate frowned. “So what were you guys up to, besides putting the whammy on Hawkeye here?”

“That depends on Drew.”

“Howso?” Drew asked. She narrowed her eyes in suspicion.

“Do you want to come in?”

“She just tried to whammy you!” Kate protested.

“What she said,” Drew added, eyeing Kate as though she was annoyed to be agreeing with the other woman.

Clint shrugged. “If you come in, don’t do it again?”

“That’s it?”

“Only if you want to come in. If you don’t we can settle the tab and head out,” Clint said.

“Just like that?” Drew deadpanned.

“Just like that?” Kate asked. “She tried to mind control you! You are not being a very good role model here, letting that sort of thing slide.”

“Hey, you’re supposed to be the testimonial here, Katie-Kate. You’ll be paying for your own fruity drinks if you’re not going to be supportive.”

Kate made a face at Clint, puffing out her cheeks and bugging her eyes. Clint returned the expression. “You’ll feel different when she has you licking her boots.”

Clint shrugged. Drew favored them with a dubious expression. “This is—” she broke off with a frown. “Just to clarify—”

“Do you want to come in?” Clint interrupted.

Her frown turned to a considering look. “I do.” She drew out the ‘o’ of do. “But I have some things that I’ll need a bit of time to wrap up. Still.”

“You wouldn’t be leading me along, now would you?” Clint asked.

“I _could_ be. It doesn’t really matter what I have to say -- it’s what you believe.”

“How long?” Kate asked.

“Week and a half.” Drew looked from Kate back to Clint. “Week if Widow wants to help me with some cleanup.”

“Now you’re trying to sucker my partner back into the darkside?”

Drew gave them a one-shouldered shrug. “If she’s interested she should meet me at the south side of Stuyvesant Square tomorrow at 2pm. Otherwise I’ll surrender at the Avengers Tower in two weeks -- main lobby.”

Two weeks would put her well within the month deadline they had. Clint nodded. “Part of the deal, though; no more whammy on SHIELD, no whammy on Avengers. If you do anything to endanger the people under my care I will hunt you to the end of this world and any others you might find your way to. Understood?”

She tilted her head and nodded once. Drew extended her hand, and after only a moment of surprised hesitation, he shook.  
\--  
Natasha did disappear the next day in the afternoon, and several times after that. She shrugged when Clint asked her where she was going or coming from. “It’s probably better you don’t know,” she admitted easily.

Clint couldn’t disagree. As much as he knew he was a killer -- an assassin and a spy and an all around not very good person -- he knew that Natasha was in many ways in an entirely different league. He could look at the woman that she was and what she had done and accept it. If he had to look at Drew who was only toeing the line of adulthood, and see similar terrible things, he was unsure he could offer her what she needed from him.

At the appointed time, Clint, Natasha, and Coulson waited in the foyer of the Avengers tower. Drew entered through the sliding doors with a rolling suitcase and a bored air. She stopped in front of them, giving Coulson a tiny frown, and offered her wrists close together. It looked more like she was making the first move in some sort of sexy power game than offering herself into custody.

Clint shook his head. “Free and clear means free and clear.”

She gave him an approving, pleased look.

“This is Agent Coulson. He’ll be handling your debrief and integration. He completely lost his sense of smell as a result of questionable medical technology.”

“Miss Drew,” Coulson greeted neutrally. “So you’re aware, your powers of influence won’t have an effect on me if you’re inclined to test that boundary.”

“Wow, you brought out the most man-in-blackey man in black you had, didn’t you?”

Coulson shrugged and extended an arm towards the elevator. They left Natasha and Clint standing in the foyer.

“Do you think she’s ready to come in?”

“Regardless of if she’s ready, now is the time.” Natasha’s mouth turned down in an expression of thought and anxiety. She leaned into Clint’s side. He reached an arm around her and squeezed, acknowledging the rare show of affection.

“Should I trust her with the other kids?”

“She’s got nothing to gain from hurting them.”

“And if she did?” Clint asked.

Natasha shrugged. “If she did I’d be keeping a closer eye on her for now.”


End file.
